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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466505">Guilty of cooking</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilaiza/pseuds/ilaiza'>ilaiza</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cooking, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Stiles Stilinski Cooks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:20:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilaiza/pseuds/ilaiza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek walks in his kitchen only to stumble on something unexpected.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Guilty of cooking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just wanted something sweet and peaceful. No beta!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek could hear the distant sound of cabinet doors flying open, pots and pans hitting the marble countertops. He figured someone from the pack must be trying to prepare dinner so he paid no attention to the ruckus in the kitchen. Neither of them were a good cook, hence the stack of pizza boxes in the recycled trash bucket. Last time someone tried to prepare dinner, the kitchen caught on fire and Derek had to remodel. No one was allowed to enter for the next six months, even if all they wanted was a glass of water. Unfortunately, he had to finish these documents. Derek returned to the work he was doing, deciding to check later if the house was intact.</p><p>When a delicious smell pulled him out of his thoughts, Derek decided to investigate. He quickly made his way down the stairs and along the hallway to the kitchen. The delicious smell only intensifying the closer he got. It was hard for him to actually point out what exactly he was smelling. Surviving mainly on take-out left him numb on the whole spice department.</p><p>Derek peeked around the kitchen corner. His gaze landing on soft brown locks rolled-up sleeves and a bow lying against a strong back. He stood there for a minute, watching Stiles move around the space, humming quietly. He looked completely at ease.</p><p>“Blender … Where is the blender?” Derek heard Stiles ask himself. Stiles proceeded to open every cabinet door, standing on his toes to get a better look at the top shelves.</p><p>“It’s in the pantry. On the right hand side.” Derek answered, making his presence known.</p><p>Stiles turned around quickly. The baby blue apron tied around him was covered in flour, a rolling pin sticking from the pocket. His eyes widen and a pink dust covered his cheeks.</p><p>“Dude, you scared me!” Stiles reached up, clenching his hand over his heart.</p><p>He looked around the space, avoiding Derek, clearly waiting for him to say something. One of his hands slid over to the hem of the apron, tangling his fingers in the fabric. Stiles was nervous and maybe a little scared. After the last cooking session, he wasn’t feeling very comfortable being caught inside the kitchen.    </p><p>“So I maybe am standing inside your kitchen.” Stiles’ voice came out uncertainly. “And I might be cooking.” His last sentence ended up sounding like a question more than a statement.</p><p>“I can see that.” Derek stepped towards Stiles. He looked around the countertops. Everything looked fine. It was even clean. This close he could smell Stiles’ nerves.</p><p>“I didn’t know you can cook.” Derek looked up at Stiles, his face stretching out in a sheepish smile.</p><p>„Yeah, well … a sheriff doesn’t have time to cook, and there is just so much curly fries one can eat.” Stiles ended his sentence in a low chuckle. He grabbed a wooden spoon and handed it off to Derek. “Do you mind stirring the pasta?”</p><p>Derek took the offered utensil. He peeked inside the boiling water, the steam fogging his reading glasses. Truthfully he was surprised to find them not burned and sticking to the bottom of the pot. The low hum of the oven’s fan reached his ears. The slow sizzle of something baking inside, a sweet aroma flowing freely through the air. Stiles reached over to adjust the gas flames, the knobs popping on every turn.</p><p>“There! That would save them from catching on fire.” Stiles joked, a smile high on his cheeks. The water had just started to boil. Suddenly the hot whistle of the steam trying to escape the lid screeched inside his ears.</p><p>“Let me get that for you.” Stiles removed his glasses and placed them on the countertop, a safe distance away from them.   </p><p>Stiles was laughing, something about wolfs not needing reading glasses. His lungs expanding with air, cheeks rosy, the stretch of his lips and the quick puffs of breath to allow his chuckles to escape his chest – Derek couldn’t tear his eyes away. He turned to stir the pasta, not being able to make a smart comeback to Stiles’ silly observation.</p><p>His eyes follow Stiles across the room as he went to pick up a bowl of sun-kissed tomatoes. The knife hit against the wooden chopping board, gliding expertly against the meaty tomatoes. When he was done Stiles returned them inside the bowl and placed it aside. He grabbed an egg from inside the refrigerator and broke it inside a small metal cup. The sharp sound of metal hitting against metal filled the kitchen space, the egg inside swishing against the fork. Stiles went to the oven and pulled out rosy puff pastries. He coated them with the eggs and returned them inside the hot oven to finish baking.    </p><p>“The blender is inside the pantry, right?” Stiles asked as he stepped towards the small space at the side of the kitchen. A few seconds later he emerged out and placed it on the counter.</p><p>“Homemade pesto is the best.” He winked at Derek like it was the secret of life he had just shared.</p><p>Stiles proceeded to fill up the plastic cup with fresh basil leaves, walnuts and a generous dose of olive oil. The loud buzz of the machine blocked from Derek the calm beats of Stile’s heart, the slow intake of air.</p><p>“Dude, you ok?” Stiles asked when he switched off the blender. Derek hadn’t realized that he was staring so openly, completely in awe of seeing Stiles in his element.</p><p>“The pasta is ready!” Stiles saved him from answering. He pushed Derek away from the stove and grabbed the pot, ready to drain it from water.</p><p>“What are you cooking?” Derek asked.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, I haven’t told you” Stiles turned around to look at Derek. He dumped the pesto in the pasta and proceeded to mix them.</p><p>“It’s a nice home-cooked meal for the pack. You know since I am like the mom and all.” He started at Derek like he was supposed to know that.</p><p>“And I am the dad?” It made sense. Derek was the strict one, enforcing the rules. He always tried to get the pack out of any sticky situation they might be in. Stiles looked after them when they were wounded and tired. He was smart and always ready with a bit of helpful advice.</p><p>“I guess so.” Stiles smiled at Derek.”The pack would be here at any moment. Will, you set up the table?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come say hi https://ilaizatxt.tumblr.com/</p></blockquote></div></div>
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